Easter Rising - The Alliance Strikes Back
For All Nails #267C: Easter Rising - The Alliance Strikes Back By Noel Maurer and Henrik Kiertzner ---- :Río Negro :Somewhere near the Río Negro-Guayana border :11 April 1977 It had all gone to shit so suddenly. Quezadas had been in the tent, going over intelligence reports. The Tories had been planning an assault, a full-scale offensive from the Guayanese highlands to Georgetown. It was an insane plan. In fact, it was only one of many insane plans. Attacks on isolated firebases, uprisings in the occupied territories, breakouts from the free cities of Medellín and Calí. Mostly FANG, but with thousands -- hell, nobody seemed to know, maybe even 10,000 -- Tories in the mix. FN1 Sebo's job was cut out for him. Now here he was, reading reports about estimated Alliance strength, and trying to figure out how he was going to move all the materiel they were going to need. When the explosions started, the Tories seemed lost. Sebo had dived for the ground, and just in time, because bullets began slicing through the canvass seconds later. He saw exactly where the weapons had been stacked, and he had two loaded ammo pouches. Without thinking, he low-crawled to the stack, grabbed one of the Rojas-65s, and clicked in the magazine. "¡Sal de here!" he shouted at the Tories. He didn't realize he was speaking Inglañol, and the Tories didn't understand him. Sebo crawled out of the collapsing tent into the dirt. He could hear shots and screams all around him. He tried to focus on what was happening. Men in green uniforms were attacking the base camp. Mortars were exploding all around him. The fuel dumps were on fire. Sebo felt like he was back in Cuba. He could die, but he felt completely detached from it. He knew he should be shooting back -- but at who? He could hear the whump-whump of a gyropter. He doubted that it was one of theirs. What's the point? he thought. This is just a supply point. The attackers can kill a lot of people, but we'll have it back up and running in a week. He crawled behind some empty fuel tanks. Peeking around them, he saw bodies in verde-y-beige camouflage lying everywhere. It was a fucking massacre. Christ, everyone had complained about the force protection measures in Panamá and Grão Pará. Here the Tories seemed to have forgotten them altogether. FN2 Alright, he thought, focus. He put the weapon to his shoulder. He didn't see any enemy soldiers, but he did see a vehicle of some sort, firing automatic weapons into the Tory soldiers. It was hopeless, but he fired on it anyway. Pop. Pop. Pop. Bang! He froze. That had come from behind him, to his left. He turned. Slowly. He felt something warm running down his leg. He ignored it. And there was a large dirty man in jungle green grinning at him, and pointing a large automatic weapon at his head. "Good thing you're wearing that stupid khaki uniform. I might have mistaken you for a pouff." The words were in Spanish. The accent was ... English? No, Scottish. "Ahhh ... " said Sebo. "Put it down, please. That's right. There." Sebo complied. "Why the khaki? Seems odd for the jungle, would you not think?" Sebo replied in English, or at least Inglañol. "Th ... th ... three-shade beige is standard field issue. Never got issued selva camo fatigues. Don't ask me why." The green-clad Scotsman nodded in agreement. "Well," he said, now in English, "once you get a little dirty, any sort of camouflage is about as good as any other. Now, would you mind doing me a little favor?" "Uh, uuyyy, I am in favor of doing favors for men pointing guns en mi direction." The Scotsman smiled. "Good. Now, if you wouldn't mind, please stay right where you are until we're done here. You won't get hurt. This is for the pouffs, not you yankees. Agreed?" Sebo nodded. "Oh yeah. No hay problema." "Good. Now take off your LCE, that's a good man. Toss it over those barrels. Right. Same with the magazine on your weapon. Slowly, please. Toss it over here. Now open the chamber. Good man. Alright, then, I'll be seeing you. What is it you yanks say? Oh, yes. Have a nice day." "Have a nice day." Sebo even waved, feebly. The Scotsman saluted and left. He wanted to move, but he was frozen. Eventually, the shots died down. ---- :Río Negro :Somewhere near the Río Negro-Guayana border :11 April 1977 The blackened remnants of a sizable tented encampment smouldered fitfully in the near distance as the long lines of green-clad Free Granadan troops marched away towards the Free Granadan border, some 15 miles away. The soldiers were marching in full kit, their rucksacks lumpy with booty, but their carbines at the high alert. They moved with the assurance of well-trained men who had fought an easy battle against an unprepared and ill-trained enemy. Their assurance was well-placed -- amongst the wreckage of the encampment many fallen bodies in light tan-and-green coloured uniforms could be glimpsed. Four men, dressed in identical uniforms, but somewhat paler of skin and lighter of hair than seemed the norm for the Free Granadans, were sitting in the shade of a tree, smoking, their weapons close at hand, watching as a fifth, wearing headphones with a boom microphone attached under his floppy green jungle hat, addressed the control panel of a portable farspeaker. No noise could be heard from the headset, but he had clearly achieved his aim, as he quietly muttered into the microphone, his Scottish accent strong: "Six Four, this is Nine Seven. Cricket Match, Cricket Match. Come and get us, come and get us." He switched off the farspeaker, doffed his hat and pulled the headphones down around his neck. He flashed five fingers at the others, twice, and started to pack his gear together into his own rucksack. The other four stirred and began shrugging on their webbing and arranging their weaponry on assault slings. All having packed up, the group moved in a relaxed saunter towards a large open area a few hundred yards away. The noise of a light vertical airmobile could be heard in the distance, waxing in volume. ---- Forward to FAN #267D (New Granada/American War) (17 April 1977): Easter Rising - Aftermath. Forward to Sebo Quezadas: A Call to Barms. Return to For All Nails. Category:New Granada Category:American War Category:Sebo Quezadas